


Tame This Animal

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Bloodplay, Crossover, D/s, Drugging, Loki/Thor (Implied) - Freeform, M/M, Torture, Werewolf!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They call him The Lone Wolf. He's an Alpha without a pack, famous for hunting his own kind. Some call him Ronin, when they dare to whisper a name behind their hands or in the darkness. He haunts their nightmares. He calls himself...Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arabwel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arabwel/gifts), [CaliHart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliHart/gifts).



> Prompt: Someone from Teen Wolf meets someone from the Avengers universe  
> Prompt: I dare you to write werewolf!Clint, Hunter!Phil

They call him The Lone Wolf. He's an Alpha without a pack, famous for hunting his own kind.

Some call him Ronin, when they dare to whisper a name behind their hands or in the darkness. He haunts their nightmares.

He calls himself... Clint.

-

As he pushes through the door to the bar, the man gazes idly around the room. He is dressed in black leather; boots, pants, jacket. Steel blue eyes scan calmly as the aviators he hides them behind get tucked into the pocket of his coat. His supernaturally enhanced sight cuts through the murk dimness, identifying everyone in the room, assessing their threat level.

A couple of good ol' boys at the counter might prove to be a difficulty if they come at him with coordination. He's not counting on that happening. Mostly that kind leaves him alone unless he starts something first.

He's been known to do that from time to time when the mood comes on him.

There's a couple bikers he knows playing pool, and he gives them a nod when one lifts his beer in greeting. Ronin loosely belongs to a crew of motorcycle enthusiasts. It gives him an excuse for traveling the country.

Otherwise, there's a drunk sleeping it off in a booth, and some sort of accountant having a liquid lunch.

Clint hops up halfway between the flannel covered farmers and the lawyer or whatever and waits for the bartender's attention.

“Hey, man, usual?”

The werewolf nods, nostrils flaring slightly as he catches the edge of nerves on the guy.

“How's things, Jake?”

Jake sighs and shakes his head. “Man, I've have had better days.” His heart is steady. _No lies there_. Jake leans forward, presumably to go more in depth, but the drunk wakes up and falls out of the booth, and he's forced to go assist.

The leather clad man thanks his lucky stars, because he doesn't give fuckall about Jake's problems. He reaches for his gin and tonic, stirring with the provided straw before sipping. Clint can relax.

There's no threat here.

-

He wakes up spread-eagled and chained to a cement floor.

“Son of a mother-fucking cock whore.”

Clint tests the bonds, but there's absolutely no give. He only starts to panic when he can't bring forth his claws or teeth. He's flailing wildly, which ends up basically being a slight squirmy wiggle, because he _can't fucking move_ , when a panel in the wall opens.

“Ah, I see you're awake.”

The voice is mild and calm, not at all like the crazy vitrol spewing insanity he's used to from hunters.

Clint lifts his chin, tilting his head up so that he can see behind him, arching his body up away from the floor. (It'd be an impressive show of abdominal strength if he wasn't a werewolf.)

It's the fucking _accountant_ from the bar.

“Bastard...” Clint breathes, because he's run out of steam. He feels like he's going to fall over, even though he's laying down. “What's.. Drugged?” He shakes his head in a futile effort to try and clear it.

“That would be the wolfsbane. My own special blend.”

The man walks closer, crouches right next to Clint's head, reaches out and fucking _pets_ him.

“Better get used to it. You're going to be here for a while, Ronin.”

_Shit. Fuck._

“Who the hell are you?” the Alpha werewolf growls, or tries to growl. It's mostly a breathy groan.

The man pauses in the doorway and turns slightly, eying Clint over his shoulder.

“My name is Phil Coulson. And I've been hunting you a very long time.”

For the first time in years, the werewolf knows fear.

-

The next time the Alpha wakes up, he's naked except for an iron collar fastened around his neck. _And I thought this couldn't get worse._ He still can't shift, and as he rolls his neck inside the collar, he learns why.

Wolfsbane coated needles are inserted into the flesh of his neck.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“I'd ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth, but I know you and your brother killed her years ago. Along with two others in your pack.”

Clint boggles. His parents died in a fucking car crash. He tells this Coulson as much. He also tells him that there were no other pack members.

The man, in his shiny expensive suit, opens a file folder on the other side of the transparent glass window. “Brake lines cut. Doors sealed shut. Explosives found at the scene not consistent with auto parts. ”

The wolf closes his eyes. “Barney.” It's almost a whisper. “That _bastard_.”

It's an old grief, freshly renewed. Abandoned by all of his family, betrayed by his brother, forced to kill or be killed. Grief wrapped in guilt, with a dash of self-loathing.

The other man tilts his head and pulls free another file, rifling through it.

“Barney. Yes. Your older brother. Looks like you killed him, too. For the Alpha power, apparently. Which comes with it's own set of burdens. Tell me, where's your pack?”

Clint can't help it, he laughs, cold and bitter. “You think you know me, but you don't know shit, _hunter_. I have _never_ had a pack.”

“I'm not a hunter, Mr. Barton. I work for the government. An agency entirely devoted to...unusual beings.” He checks his notes again. “According to our information, the drive to create a pack, to... “offer the bite” seems to be the correct nomenclature, is all-consuming and overwhelming.”

“I'm not just any Alpha, jackass. I'm in the midst of _hunting_ an omega wolf. I don't fucking make them. Do your goddamned research, asswipe.”

After that, Clint stops talking. He ignores the questions calmly and mildly pressed to him by the Agent, right up to the point when Coulson starts in on his supposed murders again.

“Listen, you piece of shit bootlicker, I didn't kill my _fucking_ parents.”

There's a slight pause.

“Interesting.”

The wall blanks out, leaving Clint in darkness.

-

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Coulson reappears in the wall. He has a different tie on.

If he's trying to fuck with the werewolf's sense of timing, Clint could have told him that it won't work, at least in the general sense. Wolves are attuned to the moon so strongly that, unless _far_ more drugged than he happens to be, they can always tell when she's high in the sky.

It's midnight, or thereabouts, but Coulson is eating a sandwich and chips. He watches the wolf watching him eat. It'll be much longer than a few hours before he begins to feel hunger.

Clint narrows his eyes and tries to figure out what Coulson wants.

His attention is drawn from the handsome, _no asshole, he meant asshole_ , Agent to the nurse that appears through the doorway. He brings in a cart of things that are hidden from the werewolf's sight.

The guy pulls on a pair of surgical gloves, and then lifts something from the cart. It's a portable urinal.

“Fuck you.” Clint practically spits profanities.

The Agent in the window isn't fazed. “It's either in there or all over yourself.” He nods to the nurse who lets Clint think about it. In the end, the wolf does what Coulson wants.

After that humiliation, vial after vial of blood is taken from Clint. Of course, government agency. They are going to _study_ him.

Then there's a sponge bath. It's extremely _thorough_. The government agent watches the entire process.

They don't feed Clint.

Once the nurse has gone, Coulson fastidiously wipes his fingers on a napkin, and focuses his attention on the Alpha wolf.

“Why don't you tell me about your parents?”

\-----

For his entire life, Peter Hale has honored the gods of his ancestors. Not that he's particularly devout or anything, but he makes sure to honor certain feast days and the like.

He does this in secret, even away from Derek and Scott. he knows they will not understand. They are from a different time.

He does these things to remember his family, more than any real devotion. It's never meant anything real.

Until he's burning the token sacrifice, and the smoke swirls into the shape of a man.

Peter immediately steps back and wolfs out, expecting witches or fairies or the like.

The smoke resolves into an incredibly handsome man, who tilts his head, letting ebon locks slide over his shoulder, and says, in a voice made of sex and darkness.

“I am Loki.”

Peter Hale, when faced with the father of Fenrir, the god that he's been praying to his entire life, that his father, and ancestors further on back through time prayed to, arches a brow, lifts his chin and says, “Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?”

Loki flashes a grin, reaches out to grip Peter's neck, running a thumb along the wolf's throat. “Oh I _do_ like it when they're mouthy.”

Peter's not impressed by much, but when Loki slides his hand up to curve around the back of Peter's neck, and looks into his eyes, whispering something in a language the werewolf doesn't know...and Peter feels himself shifting against his will, well, he's certainly not unaffected.

Peter's greatest aphrodisiac has always been power.

Loki's not done yet, however, no, he's not satisfied with the beta form. The god of mischief changes Peter into his Alpha form, a giant black wolf that he, by rights, has no more access to.

Loki runs his fingers through Peter's silky dark fur, and Peter's whole body shivers.

The dark chuckle, runs its way along the wolf's spine.

“Oh, we'll get to that later, pet. But now,” he grins wildly as Peter lifts his muzzle, “now, we hunt.”

\-----

The pattern of their days is set. Poking, prodding, clinical hands all over him, Clint swearing at anything and everything, and the starvation, followed by another round of questions.

It's been eight nights. Two more and it'll be the full moon. That's when he will be strongest. That's when he will escape.

Only he doesn't get the chance.

The pattern is disrupted.

Day nine, and the window stays dark. No tests, but no conversation with Coulson.

Clint spends a long, lonely day in the darkness absolutely not thinking about his disappointment in that.

Day ten dawns the next day, and without the increased drugs in his system, even with the food deprivation, Clint is strong enough to throw off his bonds, but there's no way he's getting through that door.

He tries anyway.

Day eleven and Coulson returns. There's no explanation for his absence, and the tests do not resume. However Clint finds that a slot in the door opens, and a tray of lukewarm broth is settled on his floor.

It's the most delicious thing that he's ever tasted.

-

Hours later, Clint has no way of knowing how many, the door to his cell opens, and a suit of clothing is tossed on the floor next to him.

“Congratulations, Agent Barton. You've just joined the federal government.”

“What the fuck?”

“You'll have to work on the profanity. If you'll follow me, we'll get that collar off.”

Clint has no fucking clue what's going on, but he suddenly smells coffee and waffles and he's way more interested in wherever they're going.

Coulson notices, of course he does, the bastard seems to notice everything.

“We do have breakfast if you're hungry.”

Clint is.

He dresses quickly and the suit isn't just any old standard issue government cheap suit.

No this mother fucker is _tailored_ to his measurements, and he _knows_ that's not in his file.

Clint arches a brow up at Coulson, and yes, his heart-rate ticks up slightly as he placidly looks over the younger man.

 _Very interesting_.

“That will do.” Coulson turns and strides out of the cell, leaving the door open.

Clint follows. What else is he going to do?

-

Turns out someone has gone to a lot of lengths to lead the government right to him, with plenty of evidence for all three murders, and then some.

“Even I'd take me out,” he says around a mouthful of strawberry laden waffles.

Coulson is staring at his mouth.

“What?”

“You've got some...” He hands Clint a napkin and gestures at his own lower lip.

Clints wipes away what turns out to be whipped cream, and then licks his lips again.

Coulson involuntarily follows the movement, and there's the uptick in his heart again.

He's very, very good at controlling himself.

Aaaand now Clint is wondering how Coulson looks when he's _completely_ lost control, and no, new train of thought, _we do not need to go down that route_.

“So. We'll handle your omega first, and then you and I will find out who has been wasting government resources so cleverly.”

“Hm?” Clint's kind of distracted by the coffee. It's really fucking good coffee.

“I'm your partner, Barton. One of us, one of them. It's how it works. You're them by the way.”

“Did you just...”

“More waffles?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Coffee too.”

-

Clint doesn't get his refills. Because he suddenly senses the presence of another Alpha, and all his hackles raise.

Coulson notices the change in his demeanour and his brow begins to think about furroing when alarm begin sounding all over.

The Agent gives Clint a measuring look, but he's busy staring at a blank wall.

He shifts to beta form, still eying it, and snarls at the Alpha he can sense there.

“Well, isn't that fascinating.”

A silky smooth voice comes from nowhere, and Coulson, to his credit, is up with his gun pointed at the new voice.

The wall shimmers and there's a man there that just _radiates_ power, and if there wasn't a strange Alpha next to him, in Clint's den – or at least his current place of residence, Clint might have studied him closer.

As it is, the black wolf is snarling back, and Clint falls into that full shift he uses so rarely. Clint is a steel gray wolf, with a gradiation of color fading to a soft smoky silver underneath.

Coulson's only reaction is a brief tick of eyebrow.

“I am Loki of Asgard-” the man begins grandly.

“Yes we know,” Coulson interrupts. “What do you want?”


	2. Chapter 2

“I think you hurt his feelings.”

Coulson ducks as a huge chunk of wall flies across the room. “Note to self, don't piss off gods.”

“You would think that would be on your list of things not to do already.” Clint hisses as he's knocked over by another piece of debris.

“I thought werewolves had good reflexes.”

“You obviously don't know me very well.”

Coulson helps him up, dodging a flying chair, and then he suddenly stands up straight, lifts the giant gun he's holding, and lets loose something that looks like a laser.

Suddenly, the room is clear of all the flying everything, and it looks the same as it did before.

“That was all a fucking illusion?”

“God of Tricks.” Coulson's tone is bored as he follows the path of the laser to see a hole burned in the wall.

Loki and the wolf are nowhere to be seen.

“Well, that was interesting.” Coulson pulls out a cellphone and makes a call. “Loki.”

He hangs up.

Clint arches a brow. “Short conversation.”

“It served its purpose.” He glances to their ruined breakfast. “We'll grab coffee on the way.”

“Are we going somewhere?”

Coulson smiles blandly. For some reason that scares Clint.

-

“Why am I here again?”

Coulson points. “Her.”

Clint watches a secretary walk with a group of men. The only thing that's unusual about her is the bright red of her hair. He's about to say something to that effect when she whirls and thr- no fiv- no all seven of the men are down.

“I think I'm I love.”

Coulson snorts. “It's your job to bring her in.”

Clint watches her efficiently strip the men of anything valuable. “Do I get any backup?”

The agent gives him that terrifying Coulson smile. “Me.”

“Just fucking great.”

Clint twists his neck and shifts, taking off around the building.

Coulson pulls out a small notebook and jots down a few things.

-

The woman gives the faintest of twitches as she sees Clint leaning against the only car in the lot that doesn't have sliced tires, courtesy of Alpha werewolf claws.

She doesn't dissemble, just folds her arms and eyes him. “What do you want?”

He grins at her. “You.”

She's fast, but an Alpha is faster, and he's got her disarmed and pressed up against the car with an arm twisted behind her in minutes.

“Now my partner is going to be-” He cuts off as her heel slices across his legs, and it'll heal but it distracts him enough that she can turn and slice a knife (that she pulled out of fucking thin air) across his throat, severing his windpipe.

Turns out, not being able to breathe while you're waiting for your throat to heal is less fun than being poked and prodded by scientists. Who knew?

“That could have gone worse.” Coulson idly watches him heal.

“You're an asshole.” His voice is rough and raw.

“You have no idea.”

\-----

Peter is lying on the floor, head on his paw, disgruntled.

“Would you stop sulking? You healed.”

He turns his head to balefully glare at the god, who smirks and runs a finger along the wolf's spine. He feels the tingle of the touch all the way down to his bones.

Peter just continues to glare. Loki rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers, and Peter's suddenly human shaped once more.

And completely nude.

He crosses his arms and continues glaring at the other man.

“Oh, I _do_ like this view.” Dark eyes travel over the werewolf's form.

“I'd be flattered if I didn't know that you fuck anything with a warm body.” Peter thinks a moment. “And possibly some without. I'm rusty on my mythology.”

Loki strides forward, with each step shifting shape until he stands before Peter, a she.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Clothing.”

“I am a _god_ -” The newly-Alpha werewolf has her slammed up against the wall before she can complete that sentence.

“I don't care what you are, I want a pair of _fucking_ pants.” He snarls at suddenly empty air, and the trickster walks in from the next room. He tosses Peter a pair of black leather pants with green and gold adornments.

“You really need to expand your color palette.” The wolf pulls them on, and they fit like a glove, and leave nothing to the imagination.

Loki gaze travels over Peter in those pants, and he tilts his head. “I like this view as well.”

“And they call me creepy.”

The taller man arches a brow, and Peter just shakes his head. “Is there a reason we're going after that particular werewolf?”

Loki stalks closer, reaches out and runs a cool hand along the werewolf's exposed chest, eyes watching Peter's.

“He's a direct line descendant.”

The hand slides down along the wolf's stomach, and settles on Peter's waist, one thumb idly tracing circles over the hipbone.

“There's power in his blood and I mean to harness it.”

Loki's left hand reaches around the werewolf's neck, moving forward to trap Peter between him and the wall.

Peter's eyes are half-lidded as he lifts them to Loki's, which are filled with flame. He tilts his chin up to let Loki kiss him.

The god never gets the chance.

Peter bursts into motion, Alpha claws slicing into Loki's stomach and neck, and as the Asgardian stumbles backwards, Peter makes a break for the door.

He doesn't make it.

\-----

“Hey, remember me?”

Clint has his feet up on the woman's coffee table, arms across the back of her couch. “Nice place, by the way. Little sterile for my tastes, but not bad.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Oh good, we're already to the introductions stage. This is going so much better than our last date.”

“That...was not a date.”

“Closest thing I've had in years, don't ruin it.” He grins. “I'm Clint.”

“What do you want?”

“If you don't tell me your name, I'm just going to call you Red. And I'll bet that annoys the fuck out of you.”

“Natalie.” She says it reluctantly as if he had dragged it out of her, but he hears the lie in her heartbeat.

“Try again, Red.”

She narrows her eyes, looks him over intently, and even _Coulson_ doesn't look at him with that deep intensity, and Clint shifts, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

“Werewolf.” She says at last, and he beams and claps.

“Good job, Red. I knew you were a smart cookie. Oh, do you have cookies? I'm starved.”

Suddenly, he tilts his head, as if listening to something.

“My partner is going to be here in a minute. Please don't kill him. I'm still breaking this one in.”

The woman stiffens and spins on her heel as the door unlocks itself and then opens, a gun appearing in either hand.

Clint is at her side, smacking them from her hands before Coulson even gets to the door.

“I asked please, Red. You just have no morals, do you?”

She's got a knife in his gut and she's twisting it as Coulson walks in the door and tasers her. The jolt goes through Clint as well, and they go down together.

The werewolf snarls at his partner as the woman is lifted, quickly disarmed and bound for transport.

Coulson absently lifts his foot and kicks the knife out of Clint's stomach, then hefts the girl and walks out.

Clint learns that gut wounds are surprisingly painful. Also that electricity hinders the healing process.

-

“Son of Coul!”

Clint's already looking at the agent, so he sees the tiny wince. He's suddenly very interested in seeing who can make the unflappable fed react in such a way, so he's already on his feet when Thor sweeps through the door.

Clint has a half a second to take in the giant man covered in glittering armor, huge hammer in hand, red cape flowing behind before he's pulled into a giant hug that would crack the spine of a lesser man.

“You've found the lost pup!” Thor beams, and steps towards Coulson who has managed to put his desk between himself and the large man.

Clint's still trying to catch his breath.

“Clint is my partner, Thor.”

“Oh _excellent_ choice. A fierce and strong fighter, no doubt, being from the line of Asgard. Come, we will drink to your union!”

Clint has a heavy arm across his shoulders, and he's being ushered out the door before he knows what hit him.

Coulson follows in their wake, his expression bemused.

-

It takes four drinks for them to figure out that a) Thor thinks they're married, which Clint thinks is hilarious (Coulson not so much). And b) Clint is apparently Loki's great-great,etc. grandson.

“It may be that he's merely attempting in his own fashion to forge a connection. However, knowing my brother, I expect the truth is somewhat more nefarious.”

Clint curses his werewolf healing and does his best to outpace it, because if there was ever a time that he needed to get drunk, it is now.

“You shall have to come to Asgard. My mother will want to meet the youngest of her line.”

“I thought Loki was adopted.” The agent is still nursing his first beer.

“His wife is my cousin on my mother's side.”

Coulson's eyes widen a fraction but for him, that's like a shout.

“Loki. Is married.”

“Of course, Son of Coul. Loki has...” Thor furrows his brow in thought. “Three or four wives. And one husband.”

Clint blinks. “That sounds...complicated.”

Thor shrugs. “As is Loki.”

Coulson is scribbling in a notebook. “Loki is a father.”

Thor calls for another round, and then turns back to the agent. “And a mother.”

Clint drinks faster.

-

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova. That's quite a mouthful.” Coulson leans against the wall of the interrogation room.

“I like Red.” Clint is leaned back in the chair with his booted feet crossed on the table. “It's simple.”

“Like you?”

Natasha's glare is directed at him, and he smirks and lets his red eyes flash a moment. “You might be surprised.”

Her foot lashes out before he sees it, connects with the leg of his chair and overbalances him backwards.

Coulson looks down at him. “You weren't kidding about your reflexes.”

Clint stares at the ceiling, giving the headache a moment to fade away.

“I changed my mind. I don't want to marry her after all.”

“Good, the paperwork on divorce is extensive.”

-

“Why do I have to take her?”

“You're the one that brought her in.”

“But Coulson....” Clint whines.

“See you in three days, Agent Barton.”

Clint turns to Natasha. “He loves me.”

“Aren't you supposed to be piloting this plane?”

“Auto-pilot.” He gives her a smug grin, and then warnings start flashing. “Aw, plane. Don't be like that.”

“You know they all think you're actually together.”

Clint is busy stabbing buttons. “Hm?”

“You and Coulson.”

“Oh yeah. It's Thor's fault. He's very loud and enthusiastic about it too.” Clint pulls a level and the noise stops. “Thank fucking god.”

“Thor? Like the god of thunder Thor?”

“Yeah, he's like my great times seven uncle or something.”

“Fuck you, Barton.”

“It's true!” His defense is cut off as the warnings flare again. “Dammit, they gave us a defective plane.”

“Or a defective pilot.” Natasha mutters under her breath.

“I heard that.” Clint crows, right before something slams into the plane and they start spiraling out of the sky.

“I hate gravity.”

-

Clint wakes up to Black Sabbath blasting from nowhere, and then a red and gold robot flies out of the sky.

“I wish I could say this is the worst dream I've had.”

The armor folds away to reveal an incredibly handsome man in a ratty pair of jeans and an old concert tee. “I could be the best dream you've ever had.” The man wiggles his eyebrows.

“That won't be necessary, Stark.” Coulson looks down at Clint. “Laying down on the job again.”

“I was just in a plane crash, a little sympathy might be nice.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that, there was something odd going on with my reactors and of course I had to fly through a certain zone a few times to figure it out but there's definitely a dampening field of some sort.”

Clint's gaze darts to Stark. “Are you telling me that you ran into my plane?”

He shrugs. “It happens.”

Coulson eyes him. “You'll be paying for Ms. Romanov's medical care.”

Stark waves his hand dismissively. “Talk to Pepper.”

“I intend to.” Coulson reaches into his pocket, pulls a gun and shoots at Stark.

Actually just past him, right into a tree, which make a fizzing sound, and then vanishes.

The agent turns his gaze on Clint. “Aren't you supposed to be able to sniff these things out?”

“From an _airplane-_ ” “Did you just-” Stark and Barton are staring at Coulson.

“Yes.” He cuts them both off and strides off into the woods.

“That man has balls of steel.”

\-----

Loki suddenly glances up and away from studying the dusty old tome he has open before him.

“Oh dear. It seems we have uninvited guests.”

He glances down at re-wolfed Peter, who is now wearing a golden chain around his neck.

“Make yourself at home, I shan't be long.”

The black wolf snarls half-heartedly back and then settles his head on his paws again.

Being kidnapped by a god is surprisingly boring.

-

Loki shimmers into being, dark gaze raking over Clint.

“How kind of you to bring me a gift.”

“Hey gramps.” Clint wiggles his fingers.

Stark tilts his head. “You're related to him? That's it, date's off.”

Barton sighs. “Aw, Stark, you can't choose your family.”

Coulson rolls his eyes and shoots Loki. The apparition vanishes.

“Well done, Agent Coulson.” Loki's leaning against a tree behind them, waving his hand.

Clint snarls as he feels himself twisted into wolf form against his will.

“Your husband's a real dog, Agent.” 

Coulson just swears quietly as Loki and Clint vanish.


	3. Chapter 3

“Bored of me already? And I really thought we had something.” Peter is stretched out on the bed, hands tucked behind his head.

Loki is briefly nonplussed, because he had left Peter as a wolf, kept in shape by the golden-ah, a broken chain lying on the floor where Peter had been.

“Well, aren't you a clever little man.”

“You thought it was big enough earlier.” Peter smirks and Loki narrows his eyes briefly and then turns to Clint.

“Meet your cousin. Say goodbye. You're both going to die today.” And with that, the god vanishes.

“He's such a charmer. Hey, cuz, how's it going.” His voice is calm, but he's tense now, because Clint is an Alpha too, and Peter has seen some very bad things happen when two of them are confined to such tight quarters.

To his surprise, Clint wanders over and plops on the bed, legs criss-crossed and grins. “Hi. I'm Clint. Are we really cousins?”

Peter starts to say something, like are you twelve? But then he catches a hint of something in Clint's scent, and he leans in closer and scents the younger man.

“Ooh, kissing cousins. Sorry but I'm taken.”

Peter's eyes flash red a moment, then he tilts his head. “What was your mother's name?”

Clint's eyes widen, old glimmers of hurt flashing like shards of glass in his eyes. “Edith.”

“Edith Hale.” Peter offers his hand. “I'm Peter Hale. Your uncle, actually.”

“And Crazy out there is our million times great-grandpa, hm?” Clint rests his hand in Peter's a moment. “What a fucked up family.”

Peter snorts and reclines back. “You don't know the half of it.”

The tension is gone now that they've established familial relationship, and Clint has accepted Peter as the ranking Alpha by putting his hand in the other's.

“Your mother ran away to be with your dad. Her twin sister refused to ever speak of her again. When I got a girl pregnant, Talia flipped out, erased both our memories, and gave the kid away. In doing so, she damaged Kate somehow, and so _she_ burned down my house with my entire family in it.”

Clint's eyes are getting wider and wider. Peter continues, almost sounding bored with it all.

“Her two daughters and one of her sons survived. I almost died, and did go insane. Ended up killing my niece and inheriting the Alpha power. Derek, your cousin, then killed me for it (I got better), and then lost it to save his sister, who subsequently vanished.” He winks. “Welcome to the family.”

Clint opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “Harold used to beat the shit out of us, then when both of them died in a car crash, me and my brother got tossed into a kids home, then we ran away to the circus. Long story short, he tried to kill me. He failed. I became Alpha to a pack of no one.”

“You and Derek would get along great.”

Clint stretches out across the bed, legs dangling over the side. “We'll have a family reunion when we get out of here, with potato salad and everything. And speaking of that, any ideas?”

“You any good at climbing?”

Clint snorts and then turns his head to look at Peter, then follows his gaze to the thick wooden beams of the ceiling.

“I'm on it.” He sits up and then looks at Peter. “What are you going to do?”

Peter slides his shirt off over his head, then grimaces. “Whatever I have to.”

“Are you sure?” Clint is making a face.

Peter tilts his head and eyes his new nephew. “You've got someone, right?”

The younger man blinks. “What, you mean like _someone_ , someone? Not really, I mean, there's kind of this guy but he's totally out of my league.”

Peter's gaze softens for a brief second. “I'm pretty sure it's mutual, kid.”

Clint tilts his head.

“You're too well anchored for someone without a pack. If he didn't want you, it would be unbalanced. Me, well,” Peter's face suddenly goes very blank. “I don't have anyone.”

Clint nods, and reaches out to put his hand on Peter's shoulder. “I'll be back as quick as I can with help.”

Peter shrugs and then helps boost Barton to the rafters. “Just don't get your dumb ass killed.”

“You sound like family already.” Clint salutes, and then starts climbing higher.

Peter grits his teeth, and then goes to the doorway after arranging the bed to look like someone's sleeping in it. It won't hold up under a serious perusal, but he intends to distract Loki. Thoroughly.

-

“One more dog joke, Stark, and you'll be _walking_ back to Malibu.”

Stark honest-to-god _pouts_ , and Coulson tries to remember why he does this for a living.

“Sir, I've got it.” Jarvis' clipped tones sound over the speakers, and both men turn to the display.

Coulson makes a phone call.

“We've got a location.”

Stark rolls his eyes as the agent hangs up. “Do you deliberately cultivate that level of boring or does it come naturally?”

Coulson ignores him, concentrating on not worrying about Barton. The kid just needs so much looking after. He hates when it's not him doing it.

He's the one that brought Clint in after all, he's Coulson's responsibility. The agent ignores that part of him that thinks maybe there's something more to it. He doesn't have time for that nonsense.

-

Peter walks into the other room, and he knows that there was a forcefield of some sort in the doorway at some point, and so, though he can't see Loki, Peter's pretty sure that he's here somewhere.

He stands in the center of the room, sharp eyes looking around for any sort of visual incongruity.

“You know, I've been thinking...”

Damn, the illusion is absolutely perfect. And Loki's not making any noise.

“You've come on to me twice, only to stop without following through.”

Peter starts to pace in an absent spiral pattern, hem of the emerald green satin pants scraping along the floor.

“At first I thought maybe you only wanted a willing partner.”

Peter catches the barest scent of something, but continues his pacing.

“But the more I observed you, the more I realized that you don't particularly care about consent issues.”

He swings by the same place again, and yes, there it is. He's got him. Following his nose, Peter orients himself to where Loki is hiding.

“I think you want to be the one who's chased.”

He stalks directly towards the spot, Alpha red eyes glowing.

“I think you want to have control wrested from you.”

Peter halts when he feels the hair on his arms stand stiff, just like it did for the other forcefield.

“I think you want me to fuck you.”

Nothing changes to his eyes, but the feeling of contained electricity in the air fades, and Loki's scent intensifies.

Peter takes another step forward, crowding into the invisible Loki's space, reaching a hand forward to where he knows the Asgardian's hair must be.

He's rewarded with the feeling of soft locks tickling his hand, quickly sliding up to grab a firm fistful, and tugging gently.

“Loki, enough,” he says softly, almost crooning. “No more illusions.”

And somehow, it works.

Peter's vision shimmers, and then he sees the supposed god pressed back against the wall, his own fist holding the man's head slightly to the side.

Loki is bare chested as well, and Peter wastes no time in moving that last step forward, pressing skin to skin. He finds he can't resist that pale swan-like neck, and moves his lips there, breath ghosting over cool skin.

Peter makes a pleased rumble as Loki's skin reacts, and he can feel the aborted shiver as the god controls his reactions. It's going to be a challenge to make him lose control.

Peter Hale loves a challenge.

-

“Any chance he'll come in quietly? Cause I gotta tell ya, those freak thunder and lightning shows, little bit flashy.”

“Says the man in the red and gold robot blasting AC/DC.”

Coulson ignores whatever Tony's about to say next in favor of answering Thor's question on location through the comm.

He makes a point to mention that this is supposed to be a surprise attack.

“Sneaking around in the shadows is Loki's way.”

Yeah, Coulson had pretty much expected that.

What he hadn't expected, though lord knows he probably should have, was the man on the roof of the building, waving to them cheerfully as if on holiday.

“Worst. Rescuee. Ever.”

“Can it, Stark. Go grab him.”

He tries, but there's some sort of electro-magnetic field in his way.

“Sir, the suit will short out with that level of electricity.”

“Agent, you hear Jarvis?”

“Fall back, Stark. We'll see if Thor can handle this.”

Clint watches Iron Man get repelled, and the aircraft hovering just beyond him, and he sighs.

“Figures.” He looks around, finds a nice supportive corner with a chimney and a half wall, and curls up there to wait.

“Agent, what the fuck is Barton doing?”

“Looks like he's taking a nap, Stark.”

Coulson can't help the lip twitch of amusement, and he knows that if anyone saw him they'd be able to read the fondness in his blue eyes.

-

Peter smirks, red eyes flashing again, as he pulls back and eyes the series of reddish-purple marks he's spent the last ten minutes sucking into Loki's pale skin.

The god is splayed out under him on the floor in front of the fireplace, blue-black locks still wrapped around Peter's fist.

Loki is displaying an amazing amount of self-control, but Peter is an Alpha werewolf, and he can hear the changes in the other man's heartbeat, can smell the spikes of arousal that run through him at each new mark, and he can see the pools of black within Loki's eyes deepen.

But it's not until Peter unsheathes his claws, that he can feel the length trapped behind green and gold leather stir to life.

Carefully watching the man beneath him, Peter drags a claw lightly across the muscled planes of his stomach, feeling his own breathing quicken at the tiny pearls of red that rise from the wound.

Loki shifts, just a faint nudge of hip, but it's enough for Peter to continue marking up the smaller man's flesh. Even more so when Peter dips his head down for a taste, eagerly flicking out his tongue, and Loki actually arches slightly up into it.

He drags a claw lightly across one of Loki's nipples next, and the result is telling, the trickster's hands curl tightly into the fabric of the plush rug beneath him, and Peter hears the tiniest gasp emerge from the gently parted lips.

Peter teases the man like that a while, then he lowers his head and uses his teeth.

-

A lightning strike flares across the sky, and Stark's bored sounding voice comes across the aircraft's speakers.

“Oh, look. Thor's here.”

“Son of Coul!”

Phil can't help but wince at the enthusiastic greeting as Thor hovers in the air in front of him.

“Thor, think you can take down that barrier?”

The Asgardian turns and sees Clint snoring on the rooftop. “Loki should not have separated you from your mate. I will handle this.”

Coulson sighs and rubs his forehead. No one has been able to get it across, that there's nothing between him and Barton, to Thor.

Well, there's nothing on Clint's end. Coulson has somehow gotten... _attached_ to the younger man. It's not the first stupid thing he's done in his life.

“It is done!”

Phil twitches as Thor shouts to him, even though the comms are perfectly capable of picking up normal spoken volume.

Iron Man swoops in and grabs a handful of Barton's shirt, lifting up before realizing that Clint has not come with his shirt.

Coulson allows himself to look over the well-muscled torso. No one can see him here.

He also allows himself a small huff of laughter, because Tony's hovering with a shirt in his hand, while Barton is rubbing his eyes and turning in circles looking for said shirt.

These are the heroes of the world.

 _Lord help us_.

-

Peter has his palm pressed against Loki's leather-clad hardness, and his teeth are tugging at the god's lower lip, when the man suddenly stiffen, eyes flying wide open in surprise.

“Shall I come back later, _brother_?”

The voice is amused, and Peter turns to the side, sitting down hard on the carpet next to Loki's form, as he sees the massive man standing behind them.

Who only has eyes for Loki, completely ignoring the Alpha werewolf. And those eyes travel slowly down the exposed flesh, noting and categorizing every last mark from Peter.

Loki flushes, but his chin lifts, and his eyes flash dangerously. “I _was_ in the middle of something.”

“You were on the bottom of something, at any rate.” For the first time, the god of thunder looks to Peter, and then shakes his head with a noise of disappointment. “You have the strangest tastes.”

The Alpha arches a brow, considers taking offense to that statement, but the play of muscle as the golden god idly shifts the giant hammer has him thinking twice about it.

Loki rises, lifting his head to look up at Thor, who crosses his arms and stares down the trickster.

“There are easier ways of getting my attention.”

Loki flashes a grin. “Oh but this was so much fun.”

Thor steps forward, wrapping one massive hand around the back of Loki's neck, and then the duo vanish.

Peter blinks, and then leans his back against the couch and tries to figure out what the hell just happened.

-

“...some sort of game they play. We're working on a treaty that would make them take it permanently off-world.”

Coulson is explaining to Clint as he paces inside the aircraft.

“The whole family is one big bucket of crazy.” Stark opines, and then waves through the window. “I'm out. I need a drink.”

Clint stills and watches Iron Man fly away, then turns his gaze to Phil, who arches a brow mildly.

“What?”

Clint stalks towards him, and Phil can suddenly see the wolf beneath the surface, and _fuck_ if it doesn't turn him on that Clint's looking at him as if he's dinner.

“You're really good at hiding yourself.”

Coulson manages to control his voice. “Oh?”

Clint grabs a fistful of Phil's carefully pressed dress shirt, and yanks the older man towards him, capturing his lips.

Coulson's brain shorts out, and he's incapable of any thought until Clint lets him go, pulling back with a smug look.

He gapes at the Alpha, who's never seen Phil looks so discomfited, eyes wide with dilated pupils, hair and shirt mussed. Clint grins and leans in to whisper into Coulson's ear.

“Now fly us home so I can fuck you into the mattress.”

Dazed, Phil does.

-

Peter waits for another fifteen minutes, watches the robot and the plane fly away, and then snorts in disbelief.

He spends the next while packaging up all of Loki's left behind magical implements, and then Peter catches a cab home to Beacon Hills.

He charges the fare to Shield.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


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